


Chiptune Flatlining

by glauconycteris



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:09:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glauconycteris/pseuds/glauconycteris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The photo's you developed yesterday are hanging over your head, strung with some miscellaneous cord you found. </p><p>Your hands are numb, but it's okay, because you have your shirt to rub them against.</p><p>(Everything's fine)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiptune Flatlining

**Author's Note:**

> this is gonna be a montage of similar works about dave being abused
> 
> " I've been waiting for months, waiting for years, waiting for you to change.  
> Aw, but there ain't much that's dumber, there ain't much that's dumber  
> than pinning your hopes on a change in another.  
> And I, yeah I still need you, but what good's that gonna do?  
> Needing is one thing, and getting gettings another. "

You're sitting on the floor listening to music.

You don't think Bro's been home in maybe, like, three days. Maybe three? You don't know. You kind of forget about him sometimes. There's three granola bars in the pantry right now. 

You know because you check every time you crawl out of the mattress you have smashed into the corner on your floor, then try not to slip your sweaty feet over the conglomeration of wires lacing the plain white tile separating you and the place Bro sometimes navigates.

The house is a built in boombox. One big nightclub. You're not sure where the sound systems start or begin but you sure know that they're around, waiting for an arm to stretch out and toggle the power so that the living room, the corner of your bedroom, the moment when you bend over to check the pantry's contents is lit with ambience from whatever era: indie rock, anarchist folk-punk, nineties Brooklyn rap. 

You haven't had a shower in a while but that's because Bro hasn't paid for heating. It doesn't bother you as much as it could, because you have no shame and you found an old hose that you connect all the way up the flight of stairs to the roof where you try to hose yourself off. 

It's okay if you're in your binder, you're not sure the neighbours have binoculars. The smell reminds you of a time when you were young enough to go to waterparks with Bro, when things used to be good, whatever good was, and reminds you of a time when you washed a car. A tilted driveway, some fleece ruffled shirt with dalmatians staring out at the world. At you.

The memory almost isn't a bother.

The whole apartment is filled with a pale morning light. You woke up early, a habit taught into you by Bro; you wake up almost hopeful you'll see him, but the far-side blinds are still open and you know nobody came home while you slept. You keep the shirt you slept wearing on.


End file.
